


I've Got Nothing Left, Just an Empty Heart

by NightCourt_HighLady



Series: A Court of Lyrics and Melodies [7]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 20:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10543692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightCourt_HighLady/pseuds/NightCourt_HighLady
Summary: In her darkest days, Feyre really wonders what the point of life is. Or death. Or anything really. Internal monologue of Feyre's brain during her final 'week' in the Night Court right before she's rescued for good.Songfic for Sound the Bugle- Bryan Adams





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the weirdest songfic I've ever written but I love it. It's more header style and you don't need the lyrics really to understand. Internal monologue for Feyre.
> 
> Songfic for Sound the Bugle by Bryan Adams. (from the Spirit: Stallion of the Cimmaron album)

Exhaustion would destroy her before anything else would.

She sat in a window seat, looking out over the mountain territory of the Night Court. The court and it’s Lord no longer frightened her. Nothing frightened her. Nothing but the nightmare life she dreamed each night. She spared a glance at the tattoo on her arm, then resumed looking out at the snowy mountains.

She was no longer herself. She was something new.

The snow across the mountains, snow she hadn’t seen since moving to Prythian and the Spring Court, reminded her of the story her father told them once. 

In the war between the humans and the Faeries, they used to have remembrance funerals for the dead soldiers. It was rare that names were known, but they instead gathered and saluted the dead with a soldier’s bugle. Each dead got a trumpeting note that was allowed to trickle off into the air. The living stood and listened in solidarity for those dead. 

After the war, the humans eventually lost the tradition. She couldn’t help wishing that it was still a tradition. A lonely trumpeting sound proclaiming the death of all she was and all she could ever be.

It sounded like the only honor she could accept for herself. No names, no recognition, no “Cursebreaker.”

Just a simple note on the simple instrument to represent a soldier fallen.

Unknown.

_ Sound the bugle now - play it just for me _

Not that her sisters would bother. They could have become close if she had stayed. But she left. She left to rescue Tamlin and she has eternity to pick up the pieces of her ragged soul and hopefully sew them into something resembling a functional High Fae.

Maybe they would. A signal that she is dead to them. Nothing she wouldn’t expect, but at least they’d be able to move on.

_ As the seasons change - remember how I used to be _

Once, she had joy. Even in the harshest winter, even in the hungriest night, there was a part of her that was filled with color and light. Painting. The soul of an artist. That was the part of her that wanted nothing more than to be left alone to paint for the rest of her life. It was the part of her that the music in her cell called to. The part of her that could and did love Tamlin.

The part of her that Tamlin could love.

That was the part of her that died when she stabbed those faeries it seems. Now she is left lonely, alone in the world. Alone with her pain.

_ Now I can't go on - I can't even start _

Getting up to face the day is a struggle. She simply wants to fade. Fade into nothingness where she can no longer feel. Where she can wait for those she loves to find her once again. She stares out at the snow again, wishing that she had the courage to throw herself from the empty frame out into the snowy wilderness beyond. 

But it’s so hard to fade sometimes.

_ I've got nothing left - just an empty heart _

That part of her with color and light and love was gone. She was left empty and cold, like the mountains outside. She couldn’t give anything more to these people. These faeries. These creatures that she had once hated and eventually learned to love. Who she had broken and wrecked herself for.

She was empty and lost.

_ I'm a soldier - wounded so I must give up the fight _

Wounded was too calm of a word. Broken was more accurate. She had been a soldier for most of her life. Fighting for her life. Fighting for her family. Killing for her family. 

But she’d fought for these faeries. Freed them all. Cursebreaker.

And now she was giving up. 

She couldn’t do anymore. There was nothing left.

_ There's nothing more for me - lead me away… _

Her eternity stretched before her. A long, dark tunnel of time, broken by small points of light. But ultimately leading into more darkness.

She could feel the darkness inside her. Festering. What she’d done to those faeries had broken her inside. Broken the good part of her.

When she let herself remember being dead she remembered following the bond, seeing through Rhysand’s eyes. She remembered thinking there was more for her.

_ Or leave me lying here _

She was wrong.

There was nothing more.

There was only darkness.

Oh how she wished that there was nothing left of her. That they had never brought her back in an unfamiliar Faerie body. That they had left her to run her natural life’s course that ended on that cold stone floor Under the Mountain.

_ Sound the bugle now - tell them I don't care _

It could be beautiful, this land. This land of darkness and stars. These snowy mountains. But she couldn’t bring herself to care. Nothing really was worth doing anymore. Even her sniping with Rhysand had lost its appeal. 

All she could do now was wait. Her entire existence was of waiting.

Waiting to die.

Waiting to be done.

Waiting for a day when the color red didn’t leave her in a cold sweat.

Waiting for a day when she couldn’t feel the blood of those faeries on her skin.

Waiting for a day when color and light returned to fill the artist in her soul.

Waiting for the day when she could be free of everything: expectations, titles, parties, people, the weight of her own immortal existence.

_ There's not a road I know - that leads to anywhere _

Immortality was an endless dark tunnel into the abyss. Life was grey. Death was damnation.

She had no paths left to happiness.

That was the core of her apathy. There wasn’t anything left that brought her any joy. Even Tamlin no longer brought her joy.

She didn’t deserve him. Didn’t deserve their happy ending.

Though she didn’t know if it was even happy anymore. They fought their own darknesses side by side, but not together.

If this was the rest of her immortal existence, what was the point?

_ Without a light I fear that I will stumble in the dark _

Sometimes the very emptiness of her immortal existence pressed in upon her as much as the walls of Tamlin’s manor.

She just wanted someone to give her a light. A point of brightness to focus on and help her find her way out of the dark.

But almost everyone ignored her. Ignored her or shoved her deeper into the darkness.

So she just floated in apathy letting the hope that someone would help die more each day.

_ Lay right down - decide not to go on _

One day the hope of rescue would die. It would flicker out like a candle in wind. 

Part of her wondered what kind of monster that would turn her into.

Or if she’d just give up after that. Giving up sounds about right. 

She’d just give up one day.

She’d go to bed in that lonely room in Tamlin’s manor and wouldn’t wake up. She gets up later and later, sleeping more and more. Eventually she’d just stay sleeping and sleep forever. 

Even damnation would be better. Something to free her from the cycle she was sinking deeper and deeper into.

_ Then from on high - somewhere in the distance _

She brings herself back to her surroundings with a jolt. One of the many large black birds outside in the mountains flies closer than the others. It’s significantly bigger than it ought to be, and as it came closer she realized that it was Rhysand.

He flew closer to her and landed roughly on the window sill.

“Feyre?” he asked. She just looked at him. “Feyre, please,” he begged.

_ There's a voice that calls, "Remember who you are" _

“Feyre, how can I help you? Please. This isn’t you. Please come back.” The pleading tone in his voice shocked her. Shocked her enough to look straight at him with the tiniest bit of spark in her eyes. Why does he care? What does he want from her? 

“I’m fine,” she says with empty eyes.

“You aren’t!” he growled. She simply reached for the plate he’d set down for her. Her stomach twisted with hunger.

He pulled it away from her with his power.

_ If you lose yourself - your courage soon will follow _

She just looked at him with those frightening, hollow eyes.

“Come on, Feyre,” he pleaded again. “Feyre please come back.” She reached for the food again. He pulled it further back. 

And again.

And again.

Until her body woke up ever so slightly. Until the apathy was washed away by an icy rage. Her eyes froze over. Her fingertips were covered in frost. So was the table clutched in them.

She swore she saw relief in his violet eyes.

_ So be strong tonight - remember who you are _

He handed her the plate.

She took it and began to eat. 

“If you ever need someone to play with, let me know,” he said with a weak smirk on the way out.

She flicked him off as he left.

_ Yeah you're a soldier now - fighting in a battle _

She pretended that she wasn’t grateful to him for waking her up again. She pretended that he hadn’t pulled her out of her darkest days. She pretended that every day wasn’t a battle for her very life. That every moment wasn’t a struggle. That her breaths came without difficulty. That she never felt suffocated and lonely every minute.

_ To be free once more - yeah, that's worth fighting for _

When Mor came, a few days after Feyre left them, to rescue her from the dark and the pain and her final break, she was grateful.

When she gave Rhys a chance to be trustworthy and it was worth it.

When she found herself in the center of a life of joy, happiness, and family.

Then she allowed herself to be grateful.

She allowed herself to remember that she was a soldier, a huntress. Every day was a battle. Some days were easier than others but she was forever a huntress with an artist’s soul.

She fought every day for her freedom, so hard won. 


End file.
